


Trickle

by LittleLinor



Series: Trickle [1]
Category: Spiral: Suiri no Kizuna
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bloodplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bringing a knife to his skin again is both breathtaking and terrifying.<br/>Happy Ending AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trickle

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as "That Fluffy Bloodplay Fic"  
> Companion pictures can be found at the end
> 
> Written for Tonake.  
> Warning for blood, implied trauma, implied violence, morbid imagery

The edge of his knife runs across the pale skin of Eyes's shoulder, sliding through the thinnest layer and watching his blood seep up, pearl at the edge into a budding line of red, vivid against his cream and whites and silvers.  
Eyes doesn't move. There is no need for restrains, he said. Even like this, sitting cross-legged on the bed with Kanone's arm around his waist and his knife biting into his skin, he doesn't move, merely lets his breath pick up and leans his head back against Kanone's shoulder. And Kanone knows, already, that Eyes has nerves of steel and mindblowing self-control, but he's not even tense, not even on his guard, just sitting there relaxed in Kanone's arms as Kanone presses a blade to him, a wrist movement away from killing him.  
One of the drops breaks, finally, gathers the others in its wake and slides down, follows the curve of Eyes's shoulder and runs along his arm, until Kanone catches it on his finger and brings it up, staring.  
"Why are you so fascinated?" Eyes asks, soft but firm voice snapping him out of it. "It's not the first time you see it."  
"Eyes--" His breath shudders, his fingers clenching on his waist--and then unclenching, violently, as they remember holding him, this close, with another knife in his hand. "Don't remind me of that."  
"Why not?" He bends, then, to catch Kanone's hand with his lips and kiss the blood away. "You've saved me hundreds of times more. Remember _that_ , too."  
Eyes's hand catches his, brings it back to his waist and threads his fingers through his, the hold secure and comforting.  
"I know why you did it, Kanone. There was never anything to forgive." His thumb rubs against the side of Kanone's hand. "And I trust you never to want to again."  
He hides his face in Eyes's neck, lets out all the air in his lungs and breathes in because he's _right_ , there is no way Kanone would want to hurt him again, would _bear_ to hurt him again, not when Eyes is in his arms, incomprehensibly alive despite everything and fighting, every day, to keep hope for the both of them alive (he has no delusion about how long he would survive if Eyes died). He doesn't trust himself, his barely stable mind and his too-efficient body, but he does trust his heart, and his heart snarls, like it has since he was a child, that Eyes should never come to harm.  
So why is he doing this, then? Why is he here, bringing a blade to his body again, spilling his blood again, no matter how shallow? His mind runs, frantically, searching for an answer in the smell of his skin and the touch of his fingers. Because Eyes asked, and he has never really been able to deny him. Because the intimacy of it is suffocating. Because no matter how much he likes to pretend, his nerves still sing at the sight of blood and his weapons are an extra limb to him.  
Because he wants Eyes to be right. About him, about everything, about the fact that he has the _right_ to hold happiness in his arms like this, warm and breathing, pressed against his heart.  
He presses a kiss at the base of his ear, then up, behind it, a trail of breathless kisses into the roots of his hair. Eyes exhales, slowly, tilting his head to the side to bare him his neck. He kisses there, too, spelling against his skin the things he can never quite put into words.  
The knife is still in his hand, limp in Eyes's lap, and he finally lets himself grip it again, his hold on the handle as gentle and firm at the one he has on Eyes's body, and draws a fresh line on his thigh, staying well away from the femoral artery.  
Eyes sighs and curls his fingers tighter into his.  
He moves up, tracing the shape of Eyes's chest with the tip of his knife, grazing without cutting, just feeling its texture like he would with his own fingertips. He presses, then, slicing a long, slow, straight line from his sternum to his navel. The blood follows his blade, and he stays there a second to let it gather at its tip.  
His heart is beating so fast, stumbling from fear and love and arousal, any moment now it's going to jam.  
He brings the knife up, close to Eyes's face, and lets the drop fall on his hair and trail down.  
Eyes smiles.  
"See? I knew you'd enjoy it."  
"It looks pretty on you," he answers, smiling sheepish and helpless.  
Eyes chuckles, and his smile is _happy_ , for some insane reason, warm and serene.  
"Keep going, then," he murmurs.  
And Kanone does, follows the calm order in his voice and his own fascination. He slices twin lines down both of Eyes's arms and follows them with his fingertips, shivering when Eyes's breath turns harsh. The cut at his shoulder he laps at, gently, tasting the contrast between salty skin and metalic blood. He can just barely make out the edge of the cut under his tongue, parting under pressure, and he has to move away and bite his lip when Eyes tilts his head back with a shaky breath and _grips_ their linked hands.  
"Eyes--"  
"Don't stop. Please." And then whispered, hot and heavy, intimate, possessive. " _Kanone_."  
So he doesn't stop. Instead of mouthing at his cut, he kisses his neck, and peppers Eyes's chest with little dashes of red, short flicks of his wrists just strong enough to break the skin and let blood seep to the surface with no apparent cut.  
He doesn't cut around the scar under his heart. There, he presses his fingers instead, kneads the slight hardness in his skin and muscle, reminds himself that if there is any proof that he is helpless against Eyes, it is there, in that small knot of scar tissue that stretches from his breast to his lungs.  
Eyes pulls him closer with his other hand, twists his head back over his shoulder and kisses him, hard and passionate, breath still skipping with the nudges of Kanone's fingers against his heart. He moans out his name ( _Eyes_ ) and presses his hand to his chest, palm and blade flat against his skin to avoid hurting him by accident, feeling his heart beat under his hand and his breath shudder into his mouth.  
And part of him wants to push him down and kiss him deep until every one of his breaths is a choking, desperate gasp for air, pin his body down and hold his head safe between his hands, where no one else can touch him, and he almost jerks back with the violence of it, but Eyes's hand keeps him in place, possessive and reassuring, and he lets himself choke a little instead with the taste of his mouth.  
When they finally break apart, his lips barely lifted, Eyes is panting hard anyway, and his fingers rub at the back of Kanone's neck.  
"My back?"  
It's a request and not an order, gentle and left open, and Kanone nods and combs his fingers through his hair--more streaks of red against the lavender-white.  
He moves, shivering at the loss of contact as he disentangles himself from Eyes's body so he can reach his back. Eyes sits up and tilts his shoulders forward, uncoiling his spine in a way that Kanone has learned to asociate with his music. His back curves, gently, poised but relaxed, exposing his skin and every ridge of his spine.  
The first thing Kanone does is bend forward, kiss between his shoulderblades and follow the shape of his spine with his lips. Eyes sighs and curls into the touch, then hums when Kanone's hands caress his sides, finally brushing up his back when Kanone moves away with a last kiss. He maps it with his fingers, the hard planes of his shoulderblades and the relative softness of his muscles--the small hollow at the edge where he can slide his fingers, almost as if he could slip his hand underneath. He counts down his ribs with his thumbs and presses the space where one should be.  
"Kanone?" His voice is calm, quiet.  
"Yes?"  
"Can you go a bit deeper?"  
His hands still, for a second, before moving again, even slower in their caress.  
"It might scar."  
"I know."  
Silently, he rests his face against Eyes's back, cheek flat against his skin. He will, he knows. Just holding the knife has him both aroused and terrified, but how deep he cuts is almost a detail. Or so he tells himself, anyway.  
"Why?"  
"I liked..." He chuckles, once. "I liked what you were doing with my shoulder."  
He takes a second to think, then presses his mouth to his shoulderblade, tongue out and trailing. Eyes gasps, then hums, curling his back further, head down.  
"Yes."  
"All right," Kanone murmurs before moving away.  
The first cut takes its root near his spine (not on it, though, not quite. Even _he_ isn't quite crazy enough to risk it, no matter how good he is) and spreads, upwards and outwards, towards the point where shoulders rise into neck. He draws the blade a bit slower, a bit harder, letting the skin part just slightly under his touch. Eyes breathes in, deeply, and out again, the sound of it loud in Kanone's ears. He moves to the other side, cuts a symmetrical line and follows it with his fingertips, smearing them with fresh blood.  
And then he shifts closer, again, to press his tongue to the cut, spread it and follow its length, collecting blood on his tongue and lips, and Eyes _moans_ , deep and quiet, chest shuddering with each breath. Kanone keeps going, not letting go until he's cleaned every inch, and even then all he does is move to the other side instead, catch a stray running drop with his fingers and kiss, again, openmouthed and dragging, tasting the edges of his skin.  
Eyes murmurs his name between two harsh breaths, tender and passionate, and Kanone pushes himself up on his knees to kiss him over his shoulder again, smearing blood on his already too-red lips.  
"Like that?" he asks in a whisper.  
"Yes. Yes, just like that."  
He nuzzles his neck before moving back, but this time there is almost no hesitation in the way he strenghtens his hold on the knife. He cuts down, diagonally, until the curve of Eyes's body frees the knife on its own just above his waist. And again, a hand's width higher, starting from the first line and running down and out, and again, a series of parallel lines reaching out of his back. And then to his left. He slices crude wings across the skin of Eyes's back, and draws back to stare at them when his hand starts shaking.  
They spread out across Eyes's back, standing bright red against his pale skin, the blood just starting to slip down, and he wants to kiss every bloody inch.  
He doesn't need to explain. He knows Eyes knows.  
"Kanone..."  
"I'm fine." He puts the knife down, out of accidental reach, and moves closer again. "I'm fine."  
There's no way to reach everything at once, so he doesn't try. His mouth latches to the lowest gash, and he tastes it, kisses it, sucks just slightly, and he doesn't care that his heart almost hurts with how fast it beats because Eyes is _moaning_ , head tilting back, drawn tight and quivering in his hold. He doesn't care about the drop that runs down from above and onto his own face, or the way his fingers smear the pattern on his left side and come back slick. What he does know is that by now the taste of Eyes's blood is becoming as familiar as that of his skin or mouth, and that Eyes is giving it to him, this taste and sight and the way he can trace his other wing with fingers, touch under his skin. That Eyes has reached back to grip his free hand again and is holding it against his chest as he arches into the touch of Kanone's mouth.  
He slowly moves from cut to cut, until Eyes is just moaning his name, again and again, emotion seeping into his voice where he usually lets none. He wraps his arms around him, then, and Eyes leans back into his hold, breath rushed and shuddering, and when Kanone burries his face in his neck his pulse beats hard and fast against Kanone's lips.  
Eyes's panting is almost a laugh. He twists in Kanone's arms and kisses him, arms wrapping around his neck, and Kanone combs white hair out of his face to tilt his head and kiss him deeper, let the familiar touch anchor him down.  
He lies back and down when their mouths part and pulls Kanone down with him, printing his bloody wings into the bedsheet. For the first time since they started, Kanone can look at his face straight-on, and he's beautiful, so absurdly beautiful, red trickling from the cuts on his chest, red on his lips, red smeared across his cheek, red threaded into his hair. His eyes are dark and hazed and remind Kanone of battle, and he can't resist him, not when Eyes doesn't want to be resisted.  
As he catches his face to kiss him yet again, Eyes wraps a leg around his waist.

**Author's Note:**

> Two [companion](http://usedempyrealthunder.tumblr.com/post/47610539435/so-like-i-said-heres-a-companion-piece-to-this) [pictures](http://usedempyrealthunder.tumblr.com/post/47848898246/again-the-natural-light-today-is-shit-hello) can be found on tumblr. The same warnings apply.


End file.
